Rimmerworld Redux
by garfieldodie
Summary: AU. Lister insists on a rather dangerous mission of boarding a disintegrating simulant ship, only to get the crew cornered by a rogue simulant. Rimmer has a chance to save them, but it turns out his heart condition is worse than they thought... Complete!
1. Worry Balls

**Author's Notes: **_I'm starting to get fond of this retconning lark. 'Rimmerworld' feels like the weakest episode of Series VI to me. There are some moments of brilliancy (i.e.: "Or we could use the teleporter"), but beyond that, It doesn't really go anywhere. For a start, we're only on Rimmerworld itself for all of five minutes, and that's probably because it's rather a thin premise. Rimmer's heart condition was much interesting, and it was promptly forgotten about once he was in the escape pod. The idea that too much stress could kill interested me, so I expanded on that._

_So here's the first part. Reviews are appreciated._

* * *

><p>To say that Rimmer hadn't been feeling well lately would've been a gross understatement. He'd felt awful. <em>Bloody <em>awful. In fact, suffice it to say that he was feeling about as wonderful as the rubber glove part of a rectal exam. He'd been feeling some rather harsh chest pains lately, and they were really beginning to get to him. He'd tried to avoid making a fuss, wanting to look tougher in front of his crewmates, but this past week he'd almost passed out from the sheer agony of it all and now he was convinced that this was an undeniable thing that needed seeing to.

So he'd swallowed his pride and confided in Kryten, asking for an examination.

That's why he was lying on his back on the medical bench while the mechanoid fussed over some control panels and completed his business.

"Well, that's finished the tests, sir," Kryten said, moving some equipment aside. "We just have to wait while the Navicomp processes the results. Unfortunately I have had to allow for the fact that you cheated at your eye tests."

Sitting up on the bench, Rimmer stared at him, hoping he looked at least somewhat innocent. "What do you mean, cheated?"

"There's no point in lying, sir. You crept in here last night, knowing you were going to have a medical, and you copied the eye charts onto your shoes."

Rimmer swung his gangly legs over the side of the bench and decided to own up. "I admit I might have taken a peek, but I'm a competitive man, Kryten. Always have been. That's what makes me what I am."

"We're all perfectly well aware of what you are, sir," Kryten assured him, with just a hint of irritation in his voice. "Oh, the results." He walked over to where a small card was being ejected through a slot on the medi-scanner. He read it in an instant and felt his worry-chip kick in.

"Everything tickety-boo?" Rimmer asked, making to stand.

"Would you like to take a seat, sir?" Kryten asked carefully, trying to decide how to word his next sentence.

Rimmer felt a slight stab of worry in his midsection as he sat down on the bench again. "Problem?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole business.

Deciding on a course of action, Kryten asked the all-important question. "You don't have any next of kin, do you, sir?"

Rimmer stared at him blankly for a moment. Of course he didn't. Everyone who could've counted was dead. They'd all died three million years ago. But now that he thought about it, he came to a rather worrying realization.

"No, they all died of heart attacks," he said aloud, still think this over. "And not just heart attacks – aneurysms, strokes, brain clots… You name it. I don't think there's a single blood vessel in my entire family that hasn't exploded at some point."

Kryten pressed on. "Are you of the school that, when faced with bad news, prefers to hear that news naked and unvarnished, or are you of the ilk that prefers to live in happy and blissful ignorance of the nightmare you're facing?"

Rimmer stared again, his worry growing. His natural cowardice kicked in before he could stop it. "Ignorance. Every time," he said quickly before he could really think about it.

Kryten then put on his brightest plastic smile. "Congratulations, sir! You've come storming through your medical with flying colors! See you next time!" he said, pleased he was about to get out of this awkward situation.

But Rimmer wasn't convinced. "Everything's okay, then?"

"Absolutely peachy!"

"I want to know, Kryten, if there's something wrong."

"If there were something wrong, sir, I would tell you."

"Even if I'd asked you not to?"

Kryten squirmed, feeling that this conversation was dragging him back into the depths of uncomfortableness once again. "Well, no," he said awkwardly. "In that case, I would lie and tell you everything was absolutely peachy."

Rimmer looked at the mech sternly. "Kryten, I want to know. That's why I asked for a medical in the first place. Is there bad news?"

"Lie mode cancel," Kryten said, not bothering to hide it. "Yes, sir, I'm afraid there is."

Rimmer sat up a little straighter, feeling his panic attack getting worse and clutching his chest. "I knew it. It's the headaches, isn't it? And the heart palpitations and the blackouts and the chest pains and the voices! It's something to do with that, isn't it?"

Kryten immediately dove into exposition mode. "Sir, when you died you were recreated as a hologram, and your exact personality was refined to an algorithm and duplicated electronically. If that algorithm contained a flaw, that flaw would be duplicated also."

Rimmer's brow creased with worry. "Flaw?" he repeated.

"It's not common, but it's possible for a hologram to die," Kryten said, as if that explained the whole thing.

Rimmer's nostrils briefly flared with annoyance before he calmed himself and managed to say, in as even a voice as he could, "Kryten, kindly get to the point before I jam your nose between your cheeks and make it the filling of a buttock sandwich."

Kryten hurried on. "As a result of both your genetics and environment, you are particularly prone to stress-related nervous disorders, and you activities over the past couple of years have pushed your brain to, well, frankly, beyond the breaking point."

_Oh god, oh god, oh god, I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die!_

That was all Rimmer could hear ringing throughout his brain as he started breathing heavily and clutching his chest again. He got up and tried to move across the room, but he got dizzy again and thudded down onto one of the bunks in the wall.

"Your T-count," Kryten continued, "which is the hologrammatic equivalent of blood pressure, is higher than a hippy on the third day of an open air festival, and if you wish to avoid a gigantic electronic aneurysm, it is imperative that you start on a program of relaxation."

Rimmer glared with irritation. "I see, and you thought that the best way for me to start this program of relaxation was to tell me my brains are about to explode," he snapped. "You've got the bedside manner of an abattoir giblet gutter."

Kryten ignored him and continued on. "Here's what I suggest: try and avoid all stressful situations. Spend more time in your hard-light form and take a little exercise, and here…" He trailed off to move over to a cupboard, where he took out a pair of shiny metallic balls. "…Try these Chinese worry balls whenever you feel anxious or tense."

Rimmer stared at the balls suspiciously. It was amazing what you could find three million years into deep space. Traffic cones, policewomen's helmets, suspenders, and now Chinese worry balls. Unbelievable.

Before he could voice his concerns, however, Lister suddenly arrived, sticking his head through the hatch. "Hey, maybe some good news! Come and check it out!" he chirped out before fleeing back the way he came.

Kryten made to follow after the human before Rimmer stopped him. "Er, Kryten," he said quietly. "I don't want the others to know about this. I want you to behave as if everything's absolutely normal."

Kryten nodded with understanding. "As you wish, sir," he agreed, and he headed out of the room.

Rimmer looked at the worry balls again, still feeling doubtful, before he took a deep breath and followed after him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes: <strong>_Not much changed from this part. Things won't _really _start to deviate from the original until they get to the simulant ship, really, so stay with me, 'kay?_


	2. Boarding Party

The image visible through the plexiglass viewscreen was that of a giant space battle cruiser in the shape of a cow skull. All it's lights were out, it was missing huge sections of its body, and it was definitely ten times more intimidating than it had been the last time they'd seen it.

But Lister was blind to this. He was a man with a mission. No, actually, he was more than that. He was an incredibly stupid man with an incredibly stupid mission. Of course, he didn't realize that. Stupid people rarely realize they're being stupid while they're doing the stupid thing. It usually isn't until long after when they're propped up in a body cast in a hospital bed that they realize that their intelligence was somewhat lacking at the time.

"There she blows…," he said, gazing at the ship.

"Logging onto the ident computer," Cat said, tapping some controls into his keyboard.

Rimmer and Kryten entered the cockpit and headed for their stations.

"What's this?" Rimmer asked, looking past Lister's chair to get a look at the recently made derelict ship.

"We've come across the simulant ship we totaled a couple of weeks back. We're gonna try and board it for supplies," Lister replied, focusing on his target.

Kryten registered this comment and realized that Mr. Lister was once again playing the pointless hero role again. Ever since they'd become trapped on _Starbug_, things had certainly gotten a lot more dangerous, and they were very exposed to all forms of peril. Unfortunately, Lister had become a little too "action man" for his tastes due to this. His first instinct when confronted with danger was to charge at it with a bazookoid and kick it's teeth in before blasting it. While the mech would never admit it, he often thought that Mr. Rimmer had it right sometimes when he suggested they run away. Sometimes it actually seemed downright sensible.

"Is that wise, sir?" he asked. "The scan says the superstructure is highly unstable and could go at any time."

"What if some of the simulants have survived?" Rimmer asked, taking his seat anxiously.

"There's an old cat saying," the Cat spoke up. "_If you're gonna eat tuna, expect bones_."

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "There's an old human saying: _If you're gonna talk garbage, expect pain_."

"Look, we'll take our chances man, okay?" Lister said dismissively.

"_No-kay_," Rimmer retorted. "They're cybernetically deranged mechanical killing machines. Not content with blasting their ship out of the sky, you now want to go back and steal what remains of their belongings? That's the metaphorical equivalent of flopping your wedding tackle into a lion's mouth and flicking his love spuds with a wet towel: total insanity."

Lister moaned with annoyance. "Look, ever since that refrigeration unit packed in we've had to live off a few pathetic handfuls of moss and fungi scraped off passing asteroids. I can't stand it anymore!"

Kryten looked astonished. "Well, sir, are you really saying you'd rather have a psychopathic mechanical killer rip off your skull and play your frontal nodes like a xylophone than have another bowl of my nourishing space nettle soup?"

"Buddy, I'd hand him the sticks and hold up the sheet music," Cat said firmly.

But Rimmer wasn't about to give up. "Lister, they are simulants. Why on Io should they have food supplies?"

Lister turned around in his chair and gave Rimmer the smuggest look he could muster upon his chipmunk face. "Because the ident computer _says _they do," he said matter-of-factually, pressing a button on Rimmer's computer. "Look: stacked to the gills."

Rimmer stared at the new data on his screen with a look of disbelief. Lister was right.

"It's true, sir," Kryten said sheepishly. "Rogue Simulants always carry large stocks of food supplies in order to prolong the torment of their torture victims. In some cases, they've kept subjects alive for over forty years in a state of perpetual agony."

Rimmer glared at him. "If we wanted to live in a state of perpetual agony, we'd let Lister play his guitar. We don't. I say drive on."

But Lister just stared at the derelict again before speaking. "Kryten, what's for dinner?" he asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer.

"Tonight, sir, asteroidal lichen stew followed by dandelion sorbet," Kryten said pleasantly.

"We're going in," Lister said decisively.

* * *

><p>While the Cat was docking with the simulant ship, Lister went down to the mid-section to do a few last minute things. Kryten and Rimmer followed him down, trying to knock some sense into him.<p>

"Sir, can't you see your behavior is totally irrational?" Kryten implored.

"In which case, we can remove him from duty as per Space Corps Directive 196156," Rimmer said quickly, quietly grasping the Worry Balls in his hands.

Kryten looked confused. "196156 – 'Any officer caught sniffing the saddle of the exercise bicycle in the women's gym will be discharged without trial'? Hmm, I'm sorry, sir that doesn't quite get to the nub of the matter for me."

Rimmer growled quietly with frustration. He was always off by one number, but Kryten was already talking again before he could correct himself.

"Sir, we have enough thistles and weeds and cultured fungus for you to scrum yourself stupid until the day you die. This foolhardy trip beggars logic!"

Deciding to go along with the mech for once, Rimmer backed him up. "Lister, we'd be fools not to listen to him. When is he ever wrong? All right, he may have a head shaped like an inexplicably popular fishing float, but he does operate from a position of total logic and we'd be fools to ignore his sage council."

Kryten nodded. "At least let me and Mr. Rimmer go in your place. We are after all merely electronic life forms and therefore expendable," he continued.

Okay, screw that, Rimmer thought. "And what the smeg would you know, you bog-bot from hell?" he snapped.

But Lister hadn't been listening to a word they'd said. He was too busy loading up the bazookoids. "There's something else," he said quietly. "I didn't want to say in front of the Cat."

They all threw a glance at the cockpit where the Cat was still working. Rimmer frowned. Since when was the Cat a child that they had to hide bad news from? What was so horrible that someone couldn't know about it?

"The reserve fuel tank got punctured when we crashed into that ocean moon," Lister continued. "If we don't re-supply, we're out of power, two, three days."

Kryten looked incredulous. "But what about the readouts?" he asked, looking over at the wall panels.

"I rigged the readouts. I didn't want to cause any alarm," Lister replied simply, as if it was the noblest thing in the world, as if he'd donated a kidney to a dying child.

Rimmer's expression looked _really_ alarmed. "You rigged the readouts!" he yelled indignantly. "You didn't want to cause any – !"

And suddenly there it was. Rimmer was now clutching his chest and grinding the worry balls as he hyperventilated. "I can't breathe, I'm hyperventilating!" he gasped.

Kryten was at his side in an instant. "Please, sir, don't panic."

"It's not a panic, it's a full-blown hysterical fit!"

"Grind those balls, sir! Grind them!"

Rimmer ground like there was no tomorrow. Working his way through the pain, he managed to get himself back under control, and he proceeded to let torrents of sarcasm pour from his mouth like a waterfall.

"So let me get this straight," he said, leaning against a wall for support. "If we board that ship and get captured, we're finished. However, if we board that ship and don't get captured, but the superstructure disintegrates around us, we're finished. On the other hand, if we board that ship and don't get captured and the superstructure doesn't disintegrate around us, but we can't find any fuel, we are, in fact, finished."

Lister nodded grimly. "That's about the shape of it, yeah."

"After you with the balls, sir," Kryten said simply.

"Look, we're out of options," Lister continued. "We've got less choice than a Welsh fish and chip shop. We've _got_ to board that ship, even if it is on the brink of disintegration. Let's just pray the crew are rotting in Silicon Hell with all the photocopiers."

But Rimmer shook his head. He held the balls tightly in his hands. He couldn't go. For once, it was genuinely hazardous to his health. One more panic attack and he'd be in more danger than Rupert Murdoch's career. "Look, you three go. I'm not leaving _Starbug_," he said firmly.

Lister shrugged. "Fine, that's fair enough. Unless, of course, something weird and hideiously ironic happens, like while we're away you get boarded by a rampaging torture party of crazed simulants in the rapid grip of bloodlust fever."

Rimmer stared at him. Great, now he was in danger no matter what he did. He looked to Kryten, secretly willing the mechanoid to make up some excuse for him to stay here, but the mech looked back at him helplessly. No way out.

Damn his pride, what little of it he had.

"I'll go pack," he said at last, pushing past them towards the stairs.

Lister smirked at his retreating form. "Bring your extra-brown rubber safety pants," he said mockingly. "And your hard-light remote belt. We need all the hands we can muster."

Rimmer glared at him furiously before grinding the balls again. He vowed that he would reveal his condition once this was all over. He'd let Kryten spill the beans later on, and then Lister would feel horribly guilty for forcing a hologram near death to be allowed into such a stressful situation.

He hefted the balls in his hands.

Just so long as he didn't die first.


	3. Beating Heart

They wandered into the corridor of the simulant ship. Decay and destruction lay all around them. Cables dangled from the ceiling. An air duct had collapsed to the floor. A strange musty stench hung in the air.

Kryten led the others through the wreckage they had created only a fortnight previously. He noted the soft beeping coming from the Psi-Scan. His metallic eyes widened slightly as he realized the implications.

"Life signs," he announced quietly.

But the Cat just glared into the darkness, loading his bazookoid fiercely. "If one of those suckers bumps into me, he'll be lunching on laser. Last time we met, I was wearing the same outfit, and no one's gonna survive to tell_ that _story."

Everyone rolled their eyes with despair and continued to survey the damage.

Lister eventually spoke up. "Listen, guys, I suppose now's as good as time as any to tell you."

Rimmer looked dangerously calm in his crewmate's direction. "Tell us what?"

"We can't actually use the bazookoids. They're for psychological reasons only. Look, the scan said that the superstructure is so unstable that even a loud noise could start a ship-quake. That's why I skipped chillies for breakfast."

It was then that he realized that the others were giving him three different looks. Rimmer's look was fury with barely concealed contempt. Kryten's looked was of astonishment and annoyance. Cat looked calm, but in his feline eyes, Lister could see an urge to pounce, tear apart limbs and devour the remains.

"Why are you all looking at me like that?" he asked nervously.

"Like what?" Cat asked quietly.

"Like I'm a nostril hair in a Spanish omelet."

Rimmer took a deep breath. He had to remain calm. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Lister shrugged helplessly. "I didn't want to cause any panic," he said simply.

Okay, that tore it. Time to lay into him. "You didn't want to cause any p – !"

Rimmer was cut off by a sharp gasp of breath and he stumbled backwards in pain, grinding the balls again furiously. Cat and Kryten helped him balance momentarily before he regained the ability to speak.

"Let me get this clear in my head," he managed at last. "If we meet one of these totally deranged killing machines, we have to engage them in combat _silently_? What do we do, whisper 'charge', tippy-toe up to them all screaming 'shhh', and chloroform them with Lister's armpits? Priceless…"

Lister rolled his eyes and motioned for Kryten to move forward. The mech did so very reluctantly. Cat followed after him, shooting Lister one last look of annoyance before letting the bazookoid fall limp from his shoulder. Rimmer fought back the urge to kick Lister before he too followed on.

* * *

><p>A few minutes later, they were wandering into a large room of some sort. They guessed it was some sort of cargo storage bay. It was lined with loads of crates, all filled with vacuum-sealed food supplies.<p>

As they looked amongst the crates, they noticed a control panel up ahead that was linked to a large flat platform.

"A teleporter," Lister realized.

Kryten inspected the controls. "Hmmm," he said, looking at the readouts on the Psi Scan. "Fully functional."

Cat grinned. "Then let's grab what we can and load up," he said triumphantly.

"Quietly," Rimmer reminded him with a hiss.

And so the next hour slowly trolled by.

Kryten manned the teleporter while Lister and the Cat loaded various crates into the device. They had set the controls to send the supplies into _Starbug_'s mid-section so they'd be waiting for them when they got back.

Rimmer wasn't sure how it'd happened, but somehow, he'd gotten stuck with guard duty. He was standing nearby, hidden behind the gantries and holding a bazookoid. He'd been nervous for forty-five minutes, and now he'd spent the last fifteen minutes just bored.

But just as they were about to load the twelfth crate, the handle broke off and it thudded to the floor. The noise echoed all throughout the ship, and they all stumbled from the vibrations.

Nobody moved for the longest time, lest the floor gave way or the ceiling came down or worse.

"It's not going to hold out much longer, sir," Kryten whispered. "We'd better make this the last batch."

But Lister wasn't having it. "One more trip, Kryten," he pleaded. "Let me get one more crate of that red hot West Indian red pepper sauce."

The others groaned quietly, but they conceded.

Rimmer didn't notice someone slip into the room with them. He was too busy contemplating what utter idiots he had for a crew. He didn't notice someone lurching through the room and accidentally slamming into the wall, causing more rumbling to reverberate throughout the ship.

"_SHHHHHH_!" everyone hissed.

They all turned around to see which of them had been the noisemaker when they locked eyes with a female simulant. She wasn't in good shape. Wires were flapping out of her dislocated shoulder, most of her fake skin had peeled off to reveal the metallic skin underneath, and she had a wicked look in her single eye. She pointed a gun at the crew.

"Well," she said a deep throbbing voice, "if it isn't my old friends, the human vermin, the scab of slime, the pus-sucking, puke-laden walking cesspits of unspeakableness."

Cat looked impressed. "She remembers us," he commented.

The simulant sneered. "Annihilated my ship, slaughtered my fellow simulants, and you practically destroyed me. Yes, I remember you."

It was around this time that Rimmer realized that she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the others. She didn't know he was there. Gulping hard, he slowly began to get behind her.

Cat pointed a threatening finger at her. "There's one thing you should know," he said. "Last time we met I was wearing a cute little black number with peach trim and gold spangles, and although it looks like I'm wearing the same outfit today, it is in fact an _entirely _different cute little black number with _completely _different gold spangles."

The simulant just looked at him blankly.

Kryten leaned forwards to whisper in the Cat's ear. "That was an important speech, sir, and it needed to be made, but might I suggest that from this moment, the rest of the discourse is conducted by those with brains _larger _than a grape."

Cat had the good grace to look sheepish momentarily before glancing at Lister. "Take it away, bud."

Lister nodded and addressed the simulant. "Okay, let's knock n the door and ask for Ronnie Real," he said, improvising. "This is a classic stalemate situation. You can't use your weapons, and neither can we. Let's chalk this one down to experience and we'll be on our merry way, yeah? Actually, as far as psychotic deranged ruthless killer simulants go, you're a bit of a babe. What are you doing tonight?"

Kryten closed his eyes in despair. Larger than a grape? Only just…

The simulant just smiled. "Dying," she replied, and she took a shot at the ceiling. The ship rumbled and debris fell from the ceiling as she reloaded and aimed at them again. "Care to join me?"

Behind her, however, Lister spotted Rimmer at last. He saw the bazookoid in the hologram's hands and felt hopeful.

"Hey, come on, let's just talk, okay? We didn't start any of this, and I think that maybe _now_…is a good time to sit down and parlez," he said, annoyed when Rimmer didn't take the cue. "Let's not hang around, _just get on with it_."

But Rimmer was too petrified to move just yet. He had no escape. He gripped the bazookoid in his bony fingers. He swallowed. Maybe he could do it. Just one quick shot and she'd fall like a house of cards. She'd been weakened. She would be easy to shoot.

But what if she wasn't that badly damaged? Simulants were meant to be indestructible. Bazookoids were only used for blasting soft rock for mining. Suppose his shot didn't kill her. She'd kill him, and then she'd kill the others. What chance did he have?

And now he could feel his anxiety levels climbing. His simulated heart was pounding in his throat now. He felt lightheaded. His vision was blurring slightly. He thought about going back for the worry balls to give them a good grind, but he couldn't grind them and fire the bazookoid at the same time.

"There is nothing to discuss," the simulant was saying. "In sixty seconds, you'll be dead."

"You can't be serious," Lister said, seeing that Rimmer wasn't moving and mistaking his panic attack for cowardice.

"I'm totally serious," the simulant replied, not noticing the hologram behind her beginning to spasm with anxiety.

"I don't believe you're seriously doing this now!"

"I do not understand why you're having such problems grasping this concept. I'm a totally ruthless amoral killing machine so why, in the name of all that's putrid, don't you believe I'm serious?"

By now, Rimmer couldn't even hear the conversation. He tried to level the bazookoid with the back of the simulant's head, but he couldn't get himself under control. He clutched the handle tightly, trying hard to focus, but now the pain in his chest was worse, and the worry balls glistened teasingly at him from the gantry he'd left them sitting on.

Of course, Lister didn't know he was on the verge of death. He thought he was just stalling. "I can't believe you're actually pulling this now," he complained. "For smeg's sake, what is wrong with you, you smeghead? Would you just do it?"

The simulant savaged him with an angry glare. "You do not understand the ways of the simulants. I enjoy toying with my prey, even in an act of revenge. I'm going to kill you. You just don't know when. This is the fun part."

Rimmer was full on twitching now. The stress of trying to save his crewmates was proving too much. One wrong move and they were all dead, and it'd be all his fault. He'd be the reason for their demise. But he had to fire if there was any chance of saving them, so he tried taking a deep cleansing breath to steady himself so he could at least aim.

But Lister was getting impatient. "For smeg's sake, what are you waiting for? Just smegging shoot!"

The simulant smiled. "Now how would that be fun for me? I am on the verge of death. Do allow me this one last pleasure," she sneered.

Lister's angry words, however, only served to make Rimmer even more nervous. All this apprehension was bubbling up inside his light bee, and he noticed that his vision was dimming now.

He realized it was happening. He was having a hologrammatic heart attack. He struggled to keep focused, but he was losing, and he clutched his chest in agony, trying to his gasps of pain as quiet as possible.

But Lister mistook this for theatrics. "Oh, knock it off! That's such a pathetic performance! Will you just smegging _shoot_ already?"

And at last, Rimmer realized he wasn't about to pull out of this one anytime soon. He felt his legs weakening beneath him. He leaned against the wall for support, but it did little good.

And then he felt something surge through his system. Somewhere, deep within the inner workings of his light bee, Rimmer felt something finally snap.

Lister, Cat and Kryten gaped in amazement as, suddenly, Rimmer's image flared up with electric blue streaks across his body like a frightened angel fish. For a few seconds, he was a laser light show, illuminating the whole room, and he let out a howl of pain.

The simulant's attention was finally attracted, and she turned around in shock. Before she could even contemplate what do about this strange hologram, something remarkable happened.

Rimmer's legs finally gave way, and he slid down the wall and landed on the floor. The minute he made contact, his thumb pressed down on the button as a reflex, and the bazookoid fired.

Red laser shot out of the barrel, missing the simulant by a foot, striking the ceiling instead. However, just when she was about to fire her own gun in retaliation, the section that had been struck collapsed, and then entire bulkhead came down on her.

And now the entire ship was collapsing around them.

"It's a ship quake!" Lister cried, trying to keep his balance.

"Mr. Rimmer, sir!" Kryten wailed, maneuvering through the falling wreckage to get to the hologram that lay slumped against the wall. He felt a chill go through his spinal column.

Rimmer looked like he was in pain, but he also looked tired. His energy was rapidly draining, and he was flaring with streaks of electricity as his light bee struggled to maintain transmission.

With determination, Kryten helped him to his feet and draped him around his shoulders, dragging him through the falling bits of ceiling.

"What happened to him?" Lister demanded, shielding himself from the showers of rubble.

"He's had an electronic heart attack, sir," Kryten shouted over the noise. "We must get him back to _Starbug _quickly."

Cat snapped his fingers and pointed at the platform. "The teleporter!" he exclaimed.

They all struggled to gently shift Rimmer's draining form onto the platform with them, and soon they were all aboard.

"I must warn you, sir," Kryten said, fiddling with the handheld controls. "The teleporter is not calibrated for human tissue. There's a twenty percent chance you'll be turned inside out when you materialize."

"Let me check my lining," Cat said, quickly checking down his jacket's sleeve. He looked up triumphantly. "Innards and lavender… I can carry that off!"

Sighing with frustration, Lister gestured for Kryten to press the button.

In a flash, they were gone.


	4. Fade Away

They arrived safely in the midsection on _Starbug_, along with the rest of the supplies. The room was shaking in here to.

"Let's get out of the landing bay," Lister ordered. "Cat, you're with me. Kryten, get Rimmer to the medical unit, STAT!"

Kryten nodded mutely and helped the nearly comatose Rimmer up the stairs, as the hologram continued to flare with electricity.

Lister watched him go momentarily before swallowing down his guilty conscience and fleeing to the cockpit after the Cat.

In a matter of minutes, _Starbug _was clear of the simulant ship, which erupted in a huge ball of fire and smoke behind them.

* * *

><p>Kryten struggled with the medi-scanner as he laid Rimmer out on the bench for the second time today. The hologram was moaning in agony, gasping and desperately clutching his chest, trying to get air into his nonexistent lungs. It was getting worse, and he was constantly failing in multiple areas of his body. He was fading to transparency, switching to and from black-and-white, and his uniform kept changing from blue to red.<p>

"Don't worry, Mr. Rimmer, sir," Kryten said quickly, finally getting the machine up and running again. "I'm sure we'll have you back on your feet in no time! Just you wait, sir! You'll be cataloguing your telegraph poles this time tomorrow!"

But Rimmer couldn't respond. His mouth felt like it was on loan somewhere in India.

Just as Kryten had managed to connect a wire to his light bee to link it to the scanner, Lister came bolting into the room. "What's happening? How is he?"

"He's coming along, sir," was all Kryten could think to say. He was too busy trying to keep up with the fluctuating readouts.

Lister hissed with frustration. "What the smeg is wrong with him?" he demanded.

"Mr. Rimmer has been suffering from a stress-related nervous disorder. Our most recent escapade has sent his hologrammatic blood pressure through the roof! He may not pull through! Oh, just ignore me, Mr. Rimmer, sir, I'm just babbling!"

Rimmer managed to glare at Kryten between gasps of pain, still trying to focus as he faded in and out of existence.

Just then Cat waltzed into the room. "Okay, we're clear! The sims got themselves blown up for good! All-in-all, one hundred percent successful trip!"

"Sir, we're about to lose Mr. Rimmer!"

"All-in-all, one hundred percent successful trip!"

"Will you smeg off?" Lister shouted angrily. "He could die at any minute!"

"Really? Wow, let's watch!"

Suddenly, Rimmer's leg spasmed, and it kicked up in the air, knocking over a table of surgical instruments, sending a scalpel right into the side of Kryten's head.

"Oh dear," the mech sighed, pulling it out again. "He seems to be getting worse."

"What do we need to do?" Lister asked frantically.

"Sir, there's not much we can do! His T-Count is off the charts!"

With the hand that wasn't grasping desperately at his chest, Rimmer started reaching out. "Lister?" he called out, his voice laced with excruciating pain. "Lister, where are you?"

Startled at hearing his crewmate speak, Lister was at his side in an instant. "I'm here, man. Rimmer, I'm so sorry! I didn't know! Come on, man, you gotta pull through this!"

"Lister…," Rimmer gasped again, a strange look in his eye.

"…Yeah, what is it, man? Tell me!"

Rimmer grasped Lister's boilersuit and pulled him in close, until they were inches apart. Lister could see the simulated beads of sweat gliding down his forehead, and the look of absolute hurt and desperation in his eyes.

Cat and Kryten watched all this in amazement.

"Lister…," Rimmer croaked once more.

"Yeah, what is it, man?"

And then the look in Rimmer's eyes changed to a look of fury and anger as he delivered his last.

"You…_bastard_," he managed.

Lister felt his heart literally freeze in his chest as the grip on his collar loosened, not because Rimmer let go, but because his hard-light drive had finally failed, and his uniform faded to red once again.

Then Rimmer's features began to melt away into a white glow that enveloped his face and hands, and now there was a blank body with no face lying on the bench, and then there was the strangest sound of feedback as his light bee finally gave out, and the hologrammatic body that had once resembled Arnold J Rimmer finally sputtered away from view.

The trio stared at the dead light bee on the bench, all too shocked to say anything for a long time.

Finally, the Cat broke the silence: "Well, there's no champagne onboard, so what do we do?" he asked.

Lister was too shell-shocked to beat the feline's immaculate face. He just sat down heavily on the bench and stared at the light bee.


	5. Lister Mourns

Lister stared at his can of lager in silent despair. He couldn't get past it. Rimmer had well and truly snuffed it. The dead light bee was still up in the medi-lab where they'd left it.

And with his dying breath, Rimmer had confirmed his never-ending loathing of him. He'd always hoped that sometime before the end, they'd finally end their feud in time for their twilight years, when they were both old and gray and reminiscing about the stupid pranks they'd pulled on each other.

But now all that could've been wouldn't be. He was gone.

He'd been gone for ten hours now.

It was too quiet without him.

His mourning was interrupted when the Cat suddenly slid down the banister of the stairs and bounded into the room. "Hey, what's up?" he asked pleasantly, posing his new suit of the day.

Lister glared at him. "Smeg off, Cat. I don't want to talk to you."

Cat looked genuinely surprised. "Why not? What'd I do?"

"What'd you do? You've spent all day prancing around like nothing happened! We just lost Rimmer, and all you care about is whether or not the simulants recognized your outfit!"

Cat looked at him sternly. "Hey, ain't _nobody _gonna remember something like that. I have a reputation to uphold. Besides, Goalpost head checked out hours ago. It's old news. Time to move on. Sob, sob, remorse, remorse, whatever!"

Lister was enraged. "Cat, you just don't get it! Whether you like someone or not, when they die, in a _normal _society, and I'm using that word very loosely in our case, everyone has a moment of grief!"

"I had a moment of grief! It just happened _before _he died!"

"You what?"

"Yeah, I was grieving for the fact that he was taking too long to die! He was taking time out of my life that could've been spent showering!"

Lister's head sunk to the table. "I keep forgetting you're not human," he mumbled. "You have no heart."

Cat looked hurt. "Hey, I have a heart! I care about stuff!"

"Yeah, you care about stuff. You don't care about _people_."

"So?"

Lister glared at him again before slamming his lager and tossing the can angrily at the wall.

Cat sighed. "Look, if you for some reason miss him so bad, why don't you just start him up again? We've still got that personality disc thing, don't we?"

"It doesn't matter," Lister sighed, shaking his head distantly. "Holograms don't work like that. When they die, they _die_. You don't just lose the person; you also lose everything they've become. He changed over the years. He learned. And when he croaks, you can't just plug the disc back in and start again. Once he's gone, he's gone for good."

He stared into empty space, realizing the truth of his words.

"…And it's all my fault. It's all because of me," he said with feeling. "If I hadn't have pressured him into coming, he might still be here, annoying the smeg out of us."

Cat rolled his eyes. "Yeah, how deprived we are."

"I'd rather have that than this…"

At that moment, Kryten came downstairs, looking rather excited for some reason.

"Sirs! I have wonderful news!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, what is _wrong _with you people?" Lister moaned. "Doesn't _anyone _on this ship know how to lament?"

But Kryten still smiled, looking rather optimistic. "No, no, sir! I mean, I think I have found a way to bring Mr. Rimmer back!"

Lister looked up sharply, a look of shock on his features. "You… You mean it? No kidding? We can get him back?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, sir! His personality files haven't been lost. There's still activity going on within his light bee's programming."

"Then…he's not dead?"

"No, sir. He's merely in the hologrammatic equivalent of a coma."

Lister looked confused. "But…but how do we get him out of it?"

"Like all electronic life forms, Mr. Rimmer's personality disc can be explored via computer and examined piece by piece. We just need to examine it closely and initiate the reboot program. That will purge Mr. Rimmer's systems and get him up and running again."

"So how do we do that?"

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, they were all in the AR Suite. They all stood on the six-by-six platform that was surrounded by a guardrail. They were all putting on gloves and boots that were linked remotely to the AR console.<p>

Also hooked to the console via several thin wires was Rimmer's light bee, which sat on a wooden stool in the middle of the room. Red, blue and green wires were connected to the tiny modem that was placed inside.

Cat grimaced as he took one of the visual display masks from Lister. "Why are we doing it like this again?" he asked.

"Well, when Legion upgraded Mr. Rimmer's software, it was made incompatible with our preexisting repair programs. I've been working on new software in the meantime, but I haven't completed it yet. Fortunately, the AR console runs on a similar program, and we can link up through here."

"So what'll we find when we get there?" Lister asked, slipping on his own mask.

"Mr. Rimmer's personality disc, when combined with the simulations of the AR unit, will have created an artificial reality for us to navigate in. Much like my adventure with the Armageddon Virus, Mr. Rimmer's coma will be represented through some sort of dream state, and it will appear in whatever style suits his personality."

Lister grimaced. "This ain't gonna be pretty," he said with a sense of foreboding.

"Can I change into something rubbery?" Cat asked quickly.

"Sirs, please! Let's go!" Kryten insisted, lowering his own mask onto his head.

With some reluctance, Lister and the Cat lowered their masks over their eyes and slapped them shut. There was a brilliant flash, a swirling vortex, and soon they were on their way into Rimmer's light bee.


	6. Virtual Rimmerworld

They found themselves in a forest. It seemed to be early morning, giving everything a light blue hue to it, with a mist rolling through. They wandered through, relieved to find themselves in their regular clothes, and Lister simulated himself a nice heavy coat to keep himself warm in the surprisingly cold weather.

"Okay, so far, so good," he commented. "What now?"

"We need to find Mr. Rimmer's prime personality file. That's where we'll need to make the changes," Kryten explained, aiming a simulation of the psi-scan around the area.

"How do we find that?" Cat asked.

"It will essentially be Mr. Rimmer himself, sir. He's lost somewhere in this wilderness. We need to find him and solve the problem."

"How do we do that?" Lister asked.

Then Cat held up his hand. "Wait, nasal alert!" he said.

"What, are you getting something?"

"I sure am. My nasal hairs are quivering like an opera singer's bosom on the high notes."

Suddenly, a man dressed a roman centurion's uniform jumped out from behind the trees, brandishing a large spear and a pair of wide nostrils.

"Halt, abomination!" a familiar voice shouted.

Lister stared in surprise. "Rimmer!" he cried joyously.

But then a second guard jumped out of hiding. "Silence, travesty!" he shouted in the same voice.

Lister looked even more surprised. "Rimmer?"

Then a third Rimmer came out directly in front of them. "Never have I seen such a hideously formed and unnaturally freakish deviant," he said with utter disgust.

Yep, Lister decided, it was okay to be a bit surprised right now. "Rimmer…?" he asked cautiously.

And then a fourth Rimmer came out from behind them. "Silence mutant! How dare you stand there and address a norm using that face. It's a revolting insult against nature!"

Lister, Cat and Kryten looked at the four Rimmers warily. This suddenly got a bit more complicated.

"This might sound like a bit of a corny line," Lister began, and then he stopped. "I can't even bring myself to say it."

"Say what?" one of the Rimmers demanded suspiciously, raising his spear dangerously.

Upon seeing the sharp metal tip aimed at his face, Lister sighed heavily and reluctantly said, "Take us to your leader."

Kryten squirmed with disgust. "Oh, sir, how _could _you?"

The apparent leader of the Rimmer guards held up his spear and made a decision. "Let the Great One judge them," he announced.

And so the guards escorted the crew away.

* * *

><p>Minutes later, the crew found themselves in an impressive-looking throne room. It resembled that of a Roman cathedral, with huge marble columns and potted plants lining the establishment. Up against the far wall was a huge throne, and behind it was a large "H" sculpted out of a circular piece of stone.<p>

But the most noticeable feature of this room was the fact that all the guards had Rimmer's face, all staring straight ahead in perfect vigilance.

Lister, Cat and Kryten looked around with curiosity as the room began to fill with a few more Rimmers, and then another one made an announcement.

"All bow before the Emperor!" he yelled out.

And then, wearing a long flowing cape and dressed in full Roman regalia, in walked a very smug-looking Rimmer. With all the pomp and circumstance of a celebrity of on the stage getting a BAFTA award, he waved to all he passed, while the Hammond organ music played in the background. With great flourish, he sat down in his throne, with two concubines at his feet, masks over their faces.

The Emperor Rimmer looked at them with contempt. "Who disturbs our royal snooze?" he asked tiredly.

Lister took a step forward. Unlike the other Rimmers, this one had an "H" on his forehead. "Rimmer? It's us!" he said, looking hopeful that they would be out of this in a few minutes and be back in time for tea.

But the Emperor Rimmer stared back at them without the slightest hint of recognition. "Dear lord, what created such foulness? Is it the product of a marriage twixt woman and gerbil?" he pondered with a derisive sneer.

Lister ignored the shot and continued on. "Do you remember? You had a heart attack. You're in a coma. We're trying to save you."

One of the Rimmer guards behind them spoke up and addressed the Emperor. "We found them in the woods, your flared-nostrilness," he supplied, "and have brought them here to be tried as travesties."

Cat leaned over to whisper in Lister's ear. "That ain't Goalpost Head. He doesn't smell right," he whispered. Even in an artificially created world, the Cat's sense of smell still came in straight and true as an arrow.

"Agreed, sir," Kryten whispered as well. "This is not the true Mr. Rimmer. It is merely an avatar of his subconscious pomposity. The 'H' is an affectation. Possibly in this world it is a symbol of power."

The Emperor Rimmer ignored their stage whispering. "These deformed monsters are no sight for my concubines," he said, turning his attention to the two female figures at his feet. "My treasures of pulchritude, run along."

The two women proceeded to leave. Emperor Rimmer gestured to one of them, before glaring sternly at the crew. "Avert your eyes from her great beauty," he ordered.

Politely, Lister, Cat and Kryten all looked away, as did everyone else in the room, and it was for the best that they did.

When the Emperor Rimmer uncovered her face, it turned out that she also had Rimmer's face, so it was all the more disgusting when he kissed her. They pulled apart, and she recovered her face, following after her twin.

Everyone else uncovered their eyes at the sound of the Emperor clearing his throat. "Let the trial begin, before my Jacuzzi water grows tepid," he declared.

One of the Rimmer guards spoke up. "These three abominations stand charged on eight counts of gross deviancy," he said. "Not content with not looking like the true image, they flaunt freakish behavior such as charm, bravery, compassion and…_honor_."

The Emperor Rimmer looked a bit concerned. "Are there no signs of normalcy in these wretches? No cowardice or pomposity, no snideyness or smarm, not even basic honest-to-goodness double-dealing two-facednesss?"

"Sire, these creatures did not even attempt to sell each other out for their own freedom. They lack even the most basic natural drives."

The Emperor Rimmer addressed the crew with disdain. "How do you plead?"

Kryten ignored the question and asked one of his own. "Er, sir, we wish to speak to the _Head _Rimmer," he said.

The Emperor took a very indignant and angry expression, and in an arrogant and over the top voice declared, "I – AM – _HE_!"

Kryten shook his head and remained calm. "Not so. We are seeking the creator of this world, the stricken Rimmer who is projecting this false reality. We must cure him so that he may awaken and this nightmare will end."

But the Emperor Rimmer was having none of it. "Enough of this heresy," he declared. "At the stroke of dawn, take them out and kill them. And when you've killed them, burn their bodies. Then bring me the cold ashes on a silver plate, with a glass of chilled Sancerre," he said with a rather sadistic grin.

Cat leaned over to whisper in Kryten's ear. "To be fair, bud, you could've made that request a bit more appealing. Something other than 'we want to destroy your world' would've done the trick."

Nodding sheepishly, Kryten allowed himself to be shoved the by Guard Rimmer along with the rest of them of them out of the throne room.


	7. Kit, Derek and Titan

The dungeon left a lot to be desired. It was probably six-by-six feet wide, but with a surprisingly high ceiling. It was made up of cinderblocks, with only a small window with iron bars in the far wall. Beneath that was a bed with a rotting old mattress with bare springs and bits of fluff sticking out. The pillow had turned an odd gray color, and the blanket was getting rather threadbare, but at the moment it was more than enough for the man using it, huddled beneath it, shaking slightly.

The large wooden door opened with a loud squeak, and Lister, Cat and Kryten were all shoved inside by the guards, who then slammed it shut again behind them, making a loud noise in the process, but this didn't disturb the previous occupant, who just sat there, shaking slightly some more.

The trio turned around towards the bed and saw the huddle on the bed. Lister reached forward carefully and gently removed the blanket from over the prisoner's head, revealing a mess of unruly curly brown locks.

"Rimmer?" Lister asked incredulously, looking at the hologram in the blue quilted jacket in bewilderment.

Cat grinned. "Smell checks out. That truly is old toilet-brush hair himself!"

But Rimmer looked terrible. He had dark circles beneath his eyes, which twitched uncontrollably. His hands were shaking as he reached out with an exploratory finger, pointing at Lister with a lightheaded look in his eyes.

"Of course, I remember…," he said deliriously. "Custer! Derek Custer! Kit! Titan!" he added, looking at Cat and Kryten as well.

"What's happened to him, bud?"

"Mr. Rimmer's psyche is still rather tormented from the heart attack, sir. His grip on his sanity must be loser than a pro-golfer's belt."

"But what are you doing in a cell, man?" Lister asked.

Rimmer's crazed eyes turned sad. "Can you imagine a society composed entirely of me?" he asked tiredly.

Cat shifted uncomfortably. "I'm trying not to. The last time I did that it took a week to dry the mattress."

Rimmer shook his head, dismayed. "Thousands upon thousands of back-stabbing treacherous hypocritical cowardly slime-mongering Judases. They overthrew me. They said I deviated too far from the template. They said I wasn't a true Rimmer anymore, so they locked me in here so I could never threaten their insane lust for power…," he explained mournfully.

"You deviate too far from the template?" Lister asked, trying not to sound too surprised.

"Look, bud," Cat interrupted. "I can understand them locking _you _up, but what have they got against me, Derek and Titan?"

"Anyone who deviates from the template is reviled. The smallest physical flaw and they're banished from society, and anyone who displays behavior deemed out of character or un-Rimmer-like is punished by death."

Lister couldn't help his smirk. "Is that why no one on the planet is brave, sexy, noble or charming?"

Rimmer shook his head dismally. "All crimes here."

Cat whistled. "Man, I must be Public Enemy numbers one, two and three!"

Kryten thought this a good time to butt in. "Sir, time is of the essence. We must help you to regain conscious. Is there anything here that might represent the antidote to your heart attack?"

"Heart attacks can't be cured. You just have to live with the aftereffects," Rimmer reminded him.

"In human terms, that would be true, sir. However, you are a hologram, and holograms are run by software. We simply need to initiate the reboot system from here. We can restart your systems without any loss of memory data. We just need to find a clue."

They stood in silence, looking down at the poor defeated man wrapped in the blanket. He was clearly trying to get through his delirium and think of something. Then his eyes widened and he said two words: "The balls."

Lister cocked an eyebrow in confusion. "Eh?"

Rimmer dug into the depths of his blanket and pulled out two Chinese Worry Balls. "The Chinese Worry Balls," he explained, holding them up for all to see.

Kryten took the balls in his hands and examined them closely. "Sir, this is it! Just grind these balls, sir, and maybe this will initiate the reboot program."

"Why didn't you use those to begin with?" Lister asked.

"I just thought they were here to taunt me. My mind's been so foggy since I got here I've barely been able to comprehend my surroundings. I feel like a hippy who just donated blood," Rimmer replied, taking the balls back in wonder.

Cat sighed. "Well, fun though this has been, shouldn't the rest of us be making skedaddle plans?"

"Oh, yes, sir, don't grind those balls until we've gotten out of here. If you initiate the reboot program with us inside, our real selves might be permanently traumatized and rendered brain dead faster than a Canadian can buy maple syrup," Kryten added urgently.

Lister began to examine the cell. "Well, don't worry, guys," he said determinedly. "There's got to be a way out. There hasn't been a prison built that could hold Derek Custer. Why don't we scrape away this mortar here, slide one of these bricks out, then using a rope weaved from strands of his blanket, rig up a kind of pulley system so that when a guard comes in, using it as a trip wire, gets laid out, and we put Rimmer in the guard's uniform, he leads us out, we steal some swords and fight our way to freedom!"

Kryten nodded contemplatively. "Or we could exit the program," he pointed out.

Lister stared at the mech and cursed inwardly. He really needed to curb this weird action-hero instinct he was developing. "Or, at a pinch, we could exit the program," he said at last.

Lister, Cat and Kryten all clapped their hands and vanished from the cell in a flash.

Rimmer stared at the spot in wonder, and then he glanced at the balls in his hands. He mentally crossed his fingers and took them firmly in his grasp. "Come on, balls, don't fail me now," he whispered.

And he began to grind them. He ground them and ground them as tightly as he could. He began to feel warmth coming from them. The more he ground them, the warmer they got, and then he noticed that they were beginning to glow white in his hands. Through his fingers spouted rays of light, emanating from the balls.

Hoping that this was the desired result, Rimmer squeezed a little harder.

And in a flash, he was gone.

* * *

><p>Back in reality, Lister, Cat and Kryten were removing the masks, gloves and boots when they noticed the display on the screens change before them.<p>

"What's all that mean?" Cat asked.

"It's working!" Kryten exclaimed. "Mr. Rimmer is doing it!"

Lister felt so relieved he couldn't help but make a crack. "That's a phrase you don't hear very often," he chuckled.

Kryten waddled out of the AR console and over towards the wooden stool upon which Rimmer's light sat. He began to remove the wires from it, and after taking a cue from a screen on the wall, snapped the casing shut and pressed a minute button on the side. Then he stood back to give him some room.

The light bee began to float unsteadily into the air, hovering above the stool. A strange light pattern began to exude from the tiny projection device, like a concentrated flurry of snowflakes, all taking on various colors, forming together into the image of a man wearing a blue quilted uniform, black trousers and strong boots, but the body was blank white and featureless, as the personality had yet to be downloaded.

Lister always got goose bumps watching a hologram getting simulated, even if it was only Rimmer. It was always quite a show.

"Downloading personality traits and memory data," Kryten announced, keeping an eye on the screen as various colored bars shrank down on the display, like liquid being poured into a vial.

And then the face began to take form. The white glowing entity took on the usual pasty bony features of Arnold J Rimmer. Those cavernous nostrils, the short curly hair, the H on the forehead, and even a distinct sneer on the thin lips became visible.

Rimmer's face gently twitched as he received the onslaught of his own memories. His expressions flitted between sadness, fear, anger and, a couple times, happiness.

"Download completed. Bringing him online…_now_."

The lightshow finally faded away, and Rimmer's eyes snapped open as he took a sudden intake of air, out of reaction rather than necessity. He grasped at his chest, feeling for the heart attack he'd had, only to find the pain wasn't there anymore. He blinked once or twice before taking in his surroundings thoroughly. His eyes fell on his expectant crewmates.

"Welcome back, Mr. Rimmer, sir," Kryten said, patting the hologram's shoulder with great relief.

Rimmer looked around, looking rather confused. "What happened? Where's…? What happened to the simulant?"

"You killed it," Lister replied quickly. "You set off a ship quake, so we escaped with the teleporter."

Rimmer absorbed this knowledge and nodded slowly. "Then what? I remember pain… White-hot pain in my chest, and then…something."

"You had a heart attack, sir," Kryten supplied.

Rimmer looked at the mech again, this time in surprise. "I did?" he asked, searching his memory. Then his eyes narrowed and he slowly looked over towards Lister with thinly disguised contempt. "I _did_, didn't I?"

Lister shifted uncomfortably. "You did."

"…I had a heart attack," Rimmer continued, getting off the stool and standing on his shaking two legs. "I had a _heart attack_…because you wanted one more crate of _hot sauce_…"

"Er…"

"I…had a _heart attack_…and nearly _died_…_again_."

"Yeah…"

"I had a _heart attack _and nearly _died again _because _you _wanted _one more smegging crate_ of _hot sauce_!" he shouted, walking towards Lister with a murderous expression on his face.

"…I'm sorry?" the scouser attempted nervously.

Rimmer looked at him with the utmost desperate anger for a few seconds before he suddenly managed to regain control his temper. "No, no, you know what?" he said, turning to face the others. "It's extreme stress that got me in trouble in the first place."

Lister visibly relaxed.

The hologram continued. "Kryten, I think I'm going to take you up on that program of relaxation after all," he said.

Kryten smiled encouragingly. "Oh, that's an excellent idea, sir. It will do you wonders to relieve yourself of all that stress. Might I suggest some yoga, or perhaps a nice space walk?"

"No, I was thinking I'd take a bit of exercise, actually. Get myself a proper workout," Rimmer replied, looking throughout the room for something in particular.

"Well, what did you have in mind, sir?"

Rimmer had finally found what he was looking for. It was a long sturdy pipe that looked about two inches thick. He picked it up and hefted it in his hands. "Well, first, I'm going to go for a nice brisk jog, and then I'm going to play some T-ball."

Lister looked confused. "I didn't know we had a stand for T-ball," he said.

"No matter. I can find a stand-in. How about I use your head?"

And then it twigged in everyone's minds what he was about to do, and Lister started backing up again.

"Whoa, hey, somebody stop him," he pleaded nervously, making for the door.

Cat started to stand in Rimmer's way. "Now, come on, bud, what he did wasn't _that_ bad," he began.

"Cat, it's because of him that a simulant saw you in the same suit twice," Rimmer reminded him.

Cat mulled this reminder over for a moment before stepping out the hologram's way.

Lister let out a yelp and fled down the corridor, with Rimmer waving the pipe and chasing after him into Starbug's depths.

Kryten stared at the Cat incredulously. "Sir?"

Cat shrugged. "It's a fair cop," he said with a grin.

**THE END**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes: <strong>_So that's my version of Rimmerworld. I also have ideas for bigger versions of _Stoke Me a Clipper _and _Blue_, but we'll see. Thanks for reading._


End file.
